Isabel blushed and looked down, away from the crowd staring up at them with unabashed curiosity. He clenched his fists to keep from touching her and said, “Yes, of course. My lady?”
They entered the house, unspeaking, moving past a line of curious guests waiting to be announced and who would certainly be disappointed that they had missed what was surely the most exciting portion of the evening.
Pulling her into the first room they reached, he closed the door behind them and threw the lock to ensure their privacy. They were in the library, a single candelabrum burning from the fireplace mantel.
He guided her into the pool of light and kissed her, hard and desperate for the taste of her—the feel of her—which he had gone too long without. He ate at her mouth, stealing her breath. She met him stroke for stroke, caress for caress, and when she sighed her pleasure he groaned his. After long, intense moments, his lips gentled, and he softened the kiss, stroking her bottom lip with his tongue, ending the moment in an infinitely softer way than it had begun.
He put his forehead to hers and said, “Hello.”
She smiled, shy. “Hello.”
“God, I missed you. I missed the feel of you. I missed the smell of you … all orange blossoms and Isabel. But more than that, I missed you.”
She touched his lips, stemming the flow of words. “Nick,” she whispered. And in the one word was an ocean of healing.
“You came to London.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been here? “ “Three days.”
Three days and no one had told him. “Gabriel will pay for keeping this from me.”
“I begged him not to tell you. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to be beautiful for you.”
He shook his head. “You are always beautiful for me.” She dipped her head, and he lifted her chin with one finger. “Always, Isabel. In mourning, in breeches, in silk … in nothing at all. You are always beautiful for me.”
“There is something I must say.” She paused, and he waited. Finally, she took a deep, steadying breath. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes at the words, words he had so desperately wanted to hear. When he opened them, she was watching him, nervous. “You don’t have to say that.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes. I do.”
He shook his head. “No, love. You do not.”
She took a step back, her voice firm and unwavering. “Nicholas St. John. Hear me. I love you. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. I loved you the day of our wedding. And the day before that. And the day before that. I said what I said because I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you would leave me someday, and I would be sad and alone and heartbroken because you were not with me.”
Tears welled at the words, and she dashed them away as she continued. “But not telling you that I loved you did not make me love you any less. And you left anyway. And I was sad and alone and heartbroken. So I came here. Because I cannot survive without you knowing that I love you. Because I never want you to think that you are less than what you are. Which is a man who deserves someone far, far better than me.”
She stopped, breathing heavily, overwhelmed by emotion. She met his gaze, and there, in the depths of his blue eyes, she saw the Nick she thought she’d lost in her bedchamber with her silly words. She did not know what to say to win him back. And so she said the words that were in her heart. “I came to London to tell you that I love you. Please. You must believe me.”
He stepped toward her, one finger lifting her chin, tilting her face up to his, and said what was in his heart. “I will never leave you again, Isabel. I am so very sorry that I did. I was coming back. I swear it.” The kiss he settled on her lips was soft and stunning, and it echoed the promise in his words.
Tears came again when he lifted his head. “You left before I could fix it.”
He pulled her into his arms. “I know. I am sorry.”
She spoke, her words muffled against his chest. “I wanted to fix it, Nick.”
“I know.”
“I thought you might have decided that you do not love me anymore.”
He pulled back to meet her worried eyes. “No, Isabel. By God, I love you more now than ever before.”
She gave him a watery smile. “Good. I considered sending Voluptas as a peace offering, but she is too heavy.”
He smiled. “I much prefer to receive the real thing.” He kissed her again, stroking deep until they were both breathing heavily. When they stopped, Isabel wrapped her arms around his neck and he passed a wicked look over her. “This gown is incredible.”
“Do you like it?” She stretched against him, catlike, and he groaned.
“Where did it come from?” He spoke the words at the place where her neck and shoulder met.
“Callie had her dressmaker send it over. I had only one request.”
He was kissing across the tops of her br**sts. “Mmm?”
She sighed as his thumbs found her ni**les beneath the fabric. “That it be red.”
He lifted his head, passion in his gaze. “It is gorgeous. I should like to remove it from your person so that I can better admire it.”
She giggled at his teasing. “No, Nick. We must go back to the ball. We’ve already caused an incredible scene.” She gasped, pulling away. “Do you think Callie will ever forgive us? We’ve ruined her ball!”
Nick laughed at her concern. “Isabel, if I know one thing about my sister-in-law, it is that she will be eternally grateful to us for causing such a scene at her ball. It will set the standard for all future parties at Ralston House, Lord save my brother.” He brushed a loose curl back from her cheek. “But if you want to return to the ball, we shall return to the ball.”